


Wood for the Trees

by theplatinthehat



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: District 7, District 7 Tributes, District 7 Victors, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Previous Hunger Games, and probably a sad one, angst - you're in the right place, because you can't have a HG fic without President Snow, if you're looking for fluff don't read this, past hunger games, sadness? you too, this is gonna be a long one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13298805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplatinthehat/pseuds/theplatinthehat
Summary: If today was like any other day I would be tucked up under my worn out blanket, sound asleep. The birds would sing without me knowing and the sun would creep its way through the trees to warm the wooden porches of the east-facing houses. But instead I am sat on a roof with a bleeding hand and a single finger pointed at the sky.The story of the 43rd Hunger Games





	1. Chapter 1

If today was like any other day I would be tucked up under my worn out blanket, sound asleep. The birds would sing without me knowing and the sun would creep its way through the trees to warm the wooden porches of the east-facing houses. But instead I am sat on a roof with a bleeding hand and a single finger pointed at the sky.

"Thanks for nothing," I growl at the world.

The world doesn't grace me with a response. There's a chuckle across the street. 

"You ok there, Birch?"

It's Willow, the assistant messenger. I only ever see her do her absurdly early rounds once a year. On this day, every year. I guess the master messenger actually gets a holiday. But the mail still has to be delivered.

"Yeah. Just cut my hand attempting some early morning carving."

"What are you making? Other than a mess."

With a grin I wriggle my way to the edge of the rooftop, "Just a little reaping gift. Can you catch?"

"Sure. Just let me put this down."

I toss it and she catches it deftly with her left hand. 

"I would applaud but my hand really does hurt."

She laughs, "I don't mind, Birch." She inspects my work with great care, "This is lovely. Is it a mockingbird?"

"No – a nuthatch."

"Are you for real? I haven't seen one of those since I was a little girl."

"Well one visited our feeder a couple of weeks back. Perhaps they're making a resurgence. "

I hear a rustling behind me. The conversation must be disturbing Ash's sleep. He needs it on a day like today. 

So I jump down. That hurts too. Willow sighs, and hands the wooden nuthatch back to me.

"So... Only two left to go now."

"Hopefully. Although it could only be the one."

"Oh come now, that's no way to think."

I shrug.

"It's harder this time. Our sector has been selected. The Peacekeepers will come soon to march us all to D-Town and then..." I stop, not wanting to even think about the Reaping at this time in the morning, "How are you, Willow? I haven't seen you for ages. How are your children?"

This provokes a soft smile. I know she loves her children more than anything. They're too young for the Reaping just yet, thank goodness.

"They are well. We had a scare with the twins in the summer, but their illness turned out to be a mild flu. They're back to their usual energetic selves now."

"I bet! Do you need a hand with these deliveries? I mean, I can carry those heavy bags for a little while."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. You can go home early then, can't you?"

"That's most generous of you, Birch. Thank you."

"No problem at all."

We make idle chit-chat as we visit each house. Most families are still asleep, but I spy a couple of my schoolmates peering through their rag-tag blinds. They'll be praying that they heard wrong last night - that D-sector hasn't been chosen and that the Peacekeepers won't be coming to escort them away in time for the 2 o'clock Reaping.

There's only one other out and about – a shadow slams a front door shut and disappears into the forest three houses down from where we stand.

"Who's that?" Willow asks, "I thought that house was abandoned?"

"It was until about two months ago. New family from out and about somewhere. The father seems to be an important foreman - even the Capitol workers are a bit scared of him, according to Dad. They say he's an irreplaceable asset."

"That's good going for a District dweller. I wish I was seen as irreplaceable," Willow sighs.

"Dad says he's just cruel – he's had to attend to way many more injuries inflicted by this guy than any foreman before him. Just last week he had to tend to a guy with severe concussion because he'd been hit in the face for not performing 'up to standard'."

"That's awful."

"Yeah well, some of the kids at school reckon they might be from District Two."

"District Two?"

"Uh-huh. You should see the way their daughter talks to the Peacekeepers. I'm amazed that she's avoided getting whipped so far."

"Is she of Reaping age?"

"Yes, in the class above. She's very funny when she talks – doesn't take any nonsense from anyone. Wonder why they moved out here to the sticks of D-Sector?"

"They may not have had a choice."

The conversation dries up like the blood on my hand. We finish the post in silence.

"Well. Thank you, Birch. That was very kind of you."

"As I said, no problem at all. I'm always happy to help."

She collects her bags and turns to leave. 

"Oh wait. Willow, take this." I hold out the wooden bird, "I think the twins might like it."

"Oh Birch. You've already done enough for me this morning. I can't accept this."

"Yes you can. I want you to have it. Sell it if you want - I hear handmade wooden trinkets are the in thing at the moment."

"It's worth more to me than that," she retorts, tucking the bird into her skirt pocket. Without warning she wraps me up in a huge hug, "May the odds be in the favour of you and your family, Birch."

I return her embrace, letting the warmth of her body fill me with a new energy, "Thank you, Willow. I really needed that this morning."

She smiles and grabs her mail bags, "So. Same time next year?"

"Absolutely. I'll be on the roof again."

I wait and watch for the young mother to disappear on her Capitol-assigned bicycle and wonder if anyone will help her in the next settlement. 

Signs of life start to stir around me. Someone chops wood in their back garden; the heavy, regular blows beat like the heart of our colony of houses. I can hear my mum calling me for breakfast.

"I'm here, mother. I went to help Willow with the mail."

"I figured as much, I just thought - what's happened to your hand?"

I look down at the wounded mess of my hand, "Art requires sacrifice."

"Oh, Birch. You chose today of all days to be careless. What if you get picked and you have to go with a poorly hand? What will you do then?"

I don't have an answer - she is completely correct, of course. I just don't have the energy to care. She begins to cry but pulls herself together immediately in the way only a mother can.

"I'm sorry, Birch. I just can't help it. You know what things are like at this time of year."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. Come on, did I hear breakfast? What have you made today?"

"Well, seeing as today is a... special day, I thought we could have a treat."

"You don't mean eggs?"

She did mean eggs. How on earth she got a hold of enough to feed all of us I will never know. Perhaps dad had taken some overtime that I didn't hear about. Dad, Ash and little Bryony were already sat around the table tucking into their breakfast.

"Where you go, Birch?" Ash demands, "You were on floor when I went to sleep and then gone when mummy woke me."

"I went to help the messenger with the mail. She had a lot of heavy bags and as I was already awake I thought I may as well help her."

"That was nice of you. You should get extra eggs."

"Awww, that's lovely of you, Ash.," I reply, leaning over to help myself to some breakfast. 

"Ah ah! Not with your hand looking like that, young man. Adam, could you give him a hand?"

"But I need both of them for work!" Dad protests. 

I'd been at the receiving end of 'the look' before, but never one as intense as the glare mum was currently giving him. Pushing back his chair with a laugh, he beckons me into his study.

I'm grateful for my family. Somehow there is always laughter in our house - even in the worst of weather, even during the most desperate times. We've bounced back from some truly horrific things since I've been born. Even when Alison was...

We think about Alison a lot at this time of year.

Dad pats the chair for me to sit down.

"Daaaad. I'm not eight anymore."

"Sit," he orders in a tone well practised on his fellow lumber workers.

I sit, nestling myself in the deep red material. It's the nicest piece of furniture we own, but one we family members rarely get to use.

"How did you manage to do this then, Birch?"

"It was an accident. I was making a little wooden nuthatch but I think I was thinking too much about the Hunger Games and ended up cutting myself." I wince as he pours something onto my hand, "Ow! What is that stuff?"

"Just water."

"Oh."

My hand is bathed, cleaned and wrapped. The crisp white material of the bandage looks out of place next to my scruffy clothes and hands - too sterile for a woodworker like me. I flex my fingers, making sure there's still room for them to move.

"How are you feeling?"

"Good. Doesn't really hurt now. Hungry more than anything."

"That wasn't what I meant."

Oh. He means...

"It's just that the last time this sector was chosen..."

Her name hangs in the air.

"Has it really only been ten years? Were you really just six years old?"

"It feels like a lifetime ago."

"Have you been thinking about her?"

"Of course, " I admitted, "It's impossible not to. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to have an older sister. But that doesn't help much. So I try not to."

We're silent for a while, listening to mum and the kids bustle around in the kitchen. 

"Come on, lad. Let's get some breakfast in you, before destiny comes a-knocking."

All thoughts of polite society go out of my head as I finally tuck in to my meal. Eggs are a rare luxury under this roof so I take the chance to stuff my face while I can. Mum chatters to us, and Bryony tries to join in. She mimics mum's tone and gestures as best as she can, repeatedly knocking her bowl from her place. Ash encourages her with silly faces and shrieks of delight resound throughout the house. I wish it could last forever. But it can't. 

Joy dies with a knock at the door.

Mum rushes to answer the door whilst I encourage Bryony to quieten down and put her shoes on. 

"We'll be ready in five minutes, sir."

"We require the eligible children immediately. "

"But he's just - "

"Immediately. "

I pretend I don't hear and continue to wrestle with Bryony shoes. A small hand on my knee makes me stop. It's Ash. He smiles at me,

"It's gonna be ok, kid. You got this. "

I recognise those words. They're mine. I give him as long a hug as I can get away with before leaving the house with our friendly neighbourhood Peacekeeper. Mum hands me my best jacket as I leave. Must look good for the Capitol.

We're herded to a point in the centre of the settlement to wait for the stragglers. We'll then be ordered into a hovercraft and transported to D-Town to prepare for the Reaping. Some of the littlest ones start to cry, not ready to be separated from their parents just yet. I recognise some of their faces from school – twelve year olds who are so determined to be treated as grown-ups around the campus. But today we are all just frightened children.

I can't think of anything better to do, so I begin to tell a story that I hope will give them a reason to smile on such a dark holiday. Our hero is Benny the blackbird - a favourite of Bryony and Ash - who has had a very strange morning. As my friends join me, the story gets more and more wild, with extra voices chipping new ideas. I think even the Peacekeepers guarding us are a little amused, even if they don't show it.

By the time we reach D-Town all tears have been forgotten and stories pass between children of different settlements. My siblings will be very pleased (or perhaps very jealous) to hear of Benny's newfound popularity. We land with a bump and the Peacekeepers order us to be silent, but smiling.

"Three! Two! One! And we're rolling!" a Capitol journalist trills, advancing on us with an entourage of cameras.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and Happy Hunger Games to you all. I'm Fortuna Ameera and I'm your host today. As you can see District Seven is in a hive activity, preparing for the Reaping celebrations. Behind me you can see the latest group of children, eager to get ready for the ceremony. Yoo-hoo!"

Fortuna waves madly in our direction. We wave back.

I could never decide what I hated more - The Capitol, or journalists. I've finally realised; it's Capitol journalists.

Fortuna twitters on as we're ushered towards the staging, explaining to Capitol viewers how the Reaping in our District works. The sectors, the settlements, the early drawing. This surprises me - is this not the same in every other District?

Mind you, according to our teachers we are the largest District by a long shot. Perhaps everyone else has the threat of being chosen every year? That sounds unbearable.  
We're marched through the streets of D-Town, the Justice Building rising up ahead of us. Although I've only been here a few times my feet seem to recognise the route we're taking. I guess there's not a great deal to memorise back home. People cheer as the parade passes them. Some lean out of upper storey windows and confetti flutters down around us. A band plays on the rooftops and singing and laughter fill the air.

How awful must it be to cheer your own children to what might their deaths?

We reach the square and assemble into ordered rows, like the plantations of F-sector. An artificial order. A cheer erupts in the distance - that must be the arrival of the Capitol escort and our current victors. All two of them. Credit where credit's due, we appreciate what little we have. 

We watch as they climb the stage. I only spot one Victor. It's Briar Young, the young man who won 5 years back. I wonder where Raine Garcia is; perhaps rumours of a serious illness are true after all. She must have a very good excuse not to be here. I don't recognise this Capitol escort - it seems to change annually. This year they are tall, green-haired with a leaf print jacket. District Seven escorts always have green hair - they say it matches the trees. No tree here has leaves as green as that.  
Fortuna clambers up after him, shrieking unintelligible instructions to her camera crew. 

The People of D-sector file into their places and as the clock strikes two they fall into silence. 

The Reaping has begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reaping and The Goodbyes

A wind whistles through the lines of children, rustling Reaping clothes and pulling a cloud in front of the sun. The temperature plummets. I watch girls in their dresses rub their exposed arms. Thank goodness my mother had the foresight to hand me my jacket as I left.

Where is my family? I'm the only one of Reaping age so they would be in the crowds that surround us. I sweep my eyes across the multitudes. I had no idea how many people there even were in this sector - what would the whole of District 7 look like assembled in one place? 

It's Ash's eye that I catch first. He gives me an almost imperceptible wave, before nudging Mum's knee and pointing in my direction. She gives me a reassuring smile, but Bryony pulls her attention away again.

I send a brave smile back, trying to mask the sudden sense of fear that has overcome me. I don't get time to dwell on it as our escort stands and taps the microphone. The poor device lets out a high pitched wail at the abuse, forcing everyone to cover their ears.

With a cough to regain his composure, he begins the Reaping Ceremony.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of Sector-C! Happy Hunger Games to you all!"

He's met with stunned silence. Is he being serious? Has he really forgotten what Sector we are? Briar taps him on the shoulder and whispers a correction in his ear. 

"My apologies, D-sector! Not sure how I forgot that."

He giggles to himself and gives the crowd a half-hearted wave.

Briar rolls his eyes and sits back down, clearly thinking what everyone else is. This man doesn't even care enough to know which sector this year's tributes are coming from.

Clearly this isn't the reception he wanted, so he hands over to the Alderman of D-sector and the Mayor of District 7. Between the two of them they tell the story of our ancestors, listing their actions that has led me to this very moment. I do find myself wondering about the Dark Days sometimes. Would there still have been a rebellion if they knew the Hunger Games would be the result? 

But it was desperation drove them to rebel; I'd probably make the same choice myself.

Our escort steps back up as the last echoes die away. The Mayor introduces him as Pyramus Zay and a ripple of polite applause rolls around the square.

"Hello all! Might I just add, what an _honour_ it is to be here today with all you lovely people. We're really going to make today something special."

Especially horrible, I think to myself. 

Pyramus beams into the camera, the feed for which is being projected onto a huge screen on the Justice Building. Are his teeth... gold?

I roll my eyes at this decadence, and remind myself at least his alterations aren't as horrific as some of our previous reps. An image of mirrored eyes and clawed hands jumps into the forefront of my mind; our escort the year Alison was sent into the arena. That freakish body haunted my nightmares for years. I shake my head and banish the figure from my mind.

In the time I've been distracted the list of victors has been read. Briar stands and waves to the crowd until Pyramus decides that he should be the centre of attention once again. The victor, clearly used to this sort of behaviour, chuckles good-naturedly and sits down with one final wave.

Pyramus cracks his knuckles and dips his hand into the first ball of names. 

"Let's start with the girlies then," he declares with a great rummage, "Drum roll please."

Silence. 

He scowls for a moment but resumes his sunny, Capitol demeanour as he plucks a slip of paper from the thousands. I'm thankful for a moment that our community's resourcefulness in a forest means that I haven't had to take tesserae for a few years now – none of the village children have. Still, my name is in there plenty of times - I am by no means out of the woods.

"Evangeline Fletcher."

Evangeline. Or Evie, as she likes to be known. The girl from District 2. The camera zooms in on her face. She's not crying, she doesn't look sad, hysterical or even fearful. She's... smiling? Every step she takes towards the wooden stage that smile gets bigger and bigger. The commentators will be going nuts for this.

Whispered conversations break out around the square. _Does she want to be a tribute?_ is the question on everyone's lips.

Evie shakes hands with Pyramus and shares a little joke with the escort. Their laughter brings the chattering to a halt. No one can believe this is happening. A tribute from 7, _happy_ to be competing? Unheard of. Our tributes usually die in the first 3 days.

Unless she thinks she has a chance of winning.

Perhaps she's one of District 2's Careers, planted here to spice up this year's Games.

Pyramus asks for volunteers to step forward. None are forthcoming. With a shrug he diverts his attention to the second ball of names. He doesn't even bother to ask for a drumroll this time.

"Birch Newson."

Nobody makes a move. 

"Do we have a Birch Newson here?"

Nothing. 

"Anyone?"

It takes my brain all that time to process it. That's _my_ name. Me. I'm the male tribute for District 7. My feet shuffle towards the stage as the children of D-sector part before me. My brain is spinning and it's a wonder I can walk in a straight line. 

_Last time... Alison... Same family... Impossible... Not fair..._

I guess the odds are not in the favour of my family.

It's a miracle that I don't trip up the stairs. I shake Pyramus's hand. I think he tells me a joke. I don't hear what it is.

The Mayor of District Seven stands back up to read the Treaty of Treason. Why they do this I don't know. Every child in District Seven - probably every child in Panem - knows this document by rote. As the words boom out of speakers I can't see, I allow myself to scan the audience for my family. Ash's head is buried in my dad's shoulder and Bryony is crying. Their friends gather close to support them if they need. That's what I always loved about our community. We're always there for each other, no matter what. 

The anthem plays and we Tributes shake hands. Her grip is firm and confident, a wide smile on her face. I'm sure I comes across about as confident as a limp leaf. 

_How can she be like this?_

With the ceremony complete we are marched across to the Justice Building so I resolve to interrogate her on the train. Pyramus babbles something about meeting us later on before he is whisked away by Fortuna to give his initial opinions on this year's tributes. Evie, at least, has given them something to talk about. I wonder what my odds are?

I'm shown to a windowless room on the top floor, the only light coming from a rusty chandelier. The decor is tasteful, although not much different to the houses back home. The only unpleasant things in the entire room are the towering portraits of President Snow. I sit with my hands in my lap, Snow's glaring eyes daring me to do anything different.

A knock on the door signals the start of my allocated visit visiting time. One hour to say goodbye to those I love the most. I only expect to see my parents but hoards of my schoolmates pile into the tiny room. I'm amazed that the Peacekeeper on duty let the whole group in at once. Piper, Aspen, Michaela, Orion and John.

They all start talking at once, digging in their pockets for something suitable for my District token. I'd forgotten all about that - I would have gone into the arena with nothing to tie me to home. The arguing gets too much - I want my last memory of my friends to be when they're happy, not when they're squabbling.

They turn to promises. They promise to look after Ash and Bryony. Promise to make sure their parents look after mine. Promise to leave my seat empty, in memory of me.

I ask them to stop. 

Each one offers a piece of 'useful' arena advice before they all pile on me in a big hug. A Peacekeeper orders the group to leave and I hear wishes of "Good luck" and "Come home" as they're escorted off my floor. 

My family is next. More hugging. A lot of crying. I do my best to be strong for them, but the emotions of the day are catching up to all of us. Neither of my parents say anything. Dad bounces a happily gurgling Bryony on his lap and Mum strokes my hair. They don't have the words. To lose one child to the Hunger Games is painful. To lose a second is beyond words, beyond feeling - beyond imagining.

Ash can't stop talking. The silence is unbearable to him – always has been. He chatters away about my upcoming victory, commentating on how I defeat every single one of the other tributes. His innocent confidence in me is sweet, but the detail he goes into is quite disturbing. Should a child really know all this?

Then I remember that I am also a child, and I've got to live it. 

And die because of it.

Because there really is no hope for me.

I ask him to stop. He sticks out his lower lip, but comes to sit on my lap. 

There's no clock in the room so I have no idea how long we sit there in silence. We've never done this before – our schedules are always so busy, so demanding, that we never have time to just sit and be with one another. One more thing to blame the Capitol for – breaking families apart, in more ways than just the Hunger Games.

"Have I ever told you all that I love you?"

There is a dozy consensus that I do all the time.

"No. Like, I _really_ love you. You guys mean everything to me."

No-one says anything.

"Whatever happens, please be happy. As happy as you can be," the words start tumbling out of my mouth now. They need to hear what I have to say.

"I know that things haven't been easy since Alison died, but you've done such a great job of raising me and Ash. Please pass on that happiness to Bryony."

Mum strokes my cheek, trying to control some emotion between pride and despair.

"We'll do our best, Birch."

"That's been always more than enough, Mum."

The pounding on the door is my death knell and the countdown to the end begins. My family scoops me into one last hug and I try to draw on their strength. I'll need it desperately in the weeks to come. 

_Weeks? More like days. Hours once we get into the arena._

They leave without a fuss, and I force the brightest smile on my face in the hope of giving them one last happy memory of me. The four of them wave at me from the elevator and I sear their image on my heart. I will not forget this moment - not now, not ever. This will carry me through the Hunger Games and whatever lies beyond.

I promise that I will try to come back. I promise, I _promise_ that I will try. But I won't promise that I will, because I never make promises that I can't keep. Not when I know I could never kill another person, no matter the circumstances. There is no hope for me at all.

I get one last glance as the doors of the elevator close. Dad wraps warm around Mum's shoulders and Ash reaches a little arm out towards me. A quiet ding! and they're gone.  
I'm alone now.

In an instant, the silence is shattered. There's a cry, a scream and a crash all rolled into one that bursts from the next door over. Evie's room. Peacekeepers storm the corridor and with a rough shove I find myself locked in my room again. I can still hear shouts and yells, but they're muffled by the thick walls. Words are indecipherable but as far as I can tell no shots have been fired. I hope that Evie is ok. Whilst an injury to her would be somewhat beneficial to me, especially considering her public confidence, I can't bear the thought of her getting hurt so I pray for her safety.

Eventually the noises stop and I can only guess what is happening.

By the time a Peacekeeper marches in I've begun to wonder whether they've forgotten about me. Of course not. The Hunger Games is the most important event of the year. There's no way they would forget a tribute, no matter how insignificant they may be.

We don't use the elevator this time, which is odd. The stairs are dark and rickety, but the feeling of wood under my feet is comforting. It feels a little bit like home. I'm grateful for this unexpected change of plan - the elevator made me feel sick, as though the pit of my stomach had fallen out of my body and was lying by itself on the ground floor.  
No, however odd this is, it's much better than the elevator.

Two vehicles wait outside. One is a black motor car that will take me to the station. The second is an ambulance. My heart jumps for a second, dreading that I'll see Evie's prone form in the back. As cruel as it is to be pleased, I'm glad I don't recognise the man. He must be a District dweller – his clothes aren't nice enough to be from the Capitol. Us District folks aren't usually privy to such generous treatment as an ambulance. My dad is as good as it gets for all the outlying settlements of D-Sector. He must be fairly important.

A shout distracts me from straining to see the man's face. A woman is racing down the road towards me, calling my name. A Peacekeeper grabs her before she can reach me, but I recognise her voice now.

"Willow!" I shout, running to her and pushing the Peacekeeper off her. They (I can never tell if Peacekeepers are male or female) pull a gun on the pair of us and I instinctively step forward to shield her. They gesture for me to move aside.

"If you want to shoot her, you'll have to shoot me first. Then what will your bosses say if District Seven doesn't have a male tribute this year? Perhaps one of your children will have to take my place."

I can barely believe that those words came to my mind, let alone out of my mouth, but they have the desired effect. They lower their gun and turn aside, giving Willow and I a precious few moments.

"What are you doing here, Willow? They could have shot you on sight!"

"I know, I know, but they wouldn’t let me in. And your family...." she stops short on that thought and presses a familiar shape into my hand, "A district token for you."

It's the nuthatch.

"Oh, Willow," I breathe, fingers tightening around my little wooden sculpture.

She wraps me up in another hug and whispers "Good luck," before running down one of D-Town's many alleys. I watch her go, hoping that the Peacekeeper doesn't dare try anything whilst I'm still standing there. I don't think they will, but I would hate to gamble with Willow's life.

Once I'm satisfied that she'll be a safe distance away, I walk back towards the car, turning the bird over and over in an attempt to distract myself from everything that's going on.

Evie is already there.

"Who was that?"

"Willow. She's one of the assistant messengers."

"What did she give you?" holding out her hand.

I tuck the bird into my jacket pocket, "Nothing important."

She snorts in mock amusement, "Nothing important? She nearly got shot in the head. Girlfriend?"

"What?"

Evie rolls her eyes, "Is she your girlfriend?"

"What? No?" I splutter, "She's a - a... She's married. With kids! I'm not... no!"

She shrugs, "There are worse relationships out there than that."

"Well, it's not a relationship. I'm not interested in her, at all."

"Ok."

There's an unspoken apology in her eyes, as though she regrets pushing me too far, but none is forthcoming. Our driver starts the engine and I settle down for the ride. District 7's train station is in A-Town, which must be at least a few hour's drive away.

With a huff, Evie yanks a portion of the seat in front down to reveal a foot rest. Swinging her feet onto the soft material she crosses her arms, makes herself comfortable and shuts her eyes. 

I try to copy her actions but the foot rest won't budge.

"There's a catch down the left-hand side," she instructs without giving me a second glance. 

She's correct and soon I am equally comfortable.

"How did you know that?"

"Not my first ride in a car."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. We were driven here when we moved."

_What?_

"How could you afford that?"

"Haha, we didn't. The District paid for it - managed move."

"Managed move? I've never heard of such a thing."

"And I think the District would prefer that it stayed that way."

"Why?"

She doesn't reply, turning away from me. I catch a glimpse of the knuckles on her right hand - they're bleeding.

"Is your hand ok?"

That catches her attention. She gives her fingers a wiggle to see if there's any motor damage but seems happy that the only ill effect is an open cut.  
"Worth it. The bastard had it coming."

"Peacekeeper?"

"No," she chuckles, "my father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the next instalment! Comments and kudos are appreciated. My tumblr is @theplatinthehat


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We travel.

Evie rests her head against the window, clueless to the fact that her revelation has left me reeling.

_Her father?_

I picture my own father; kind, generous, loving. The thought of anyone hurting him pains me to the core. And the thought of me being the one to throw the punch makes me feel sick.

I want to ask Evie more - to unravel the situation whereby she detests her own father so much that she can put him in an ambulance with a single blow and smile about it.  
But her breathing has evened out and I know that she's fallen asleep. Probably the most sensible thing to do. The urban streets of D-Town have melted into lush deciduous woodlands. They're teeming with life, and the varying shades of green make me exhale in wonder. The contrast between the coniferous pine forests that surround our settlement couldn't be greater. We never see small birds - the nuthatch we saw really was a rare visitor - and any game has learnt to stay well away. Although hunting is forbidden if a wounded animal were to stumble down the main street there isn't a person who wouldn't take the opportunity to get more than the tiny ration of meat we're provided.  
Mutts, however, have no such fear. Remnants of a war that we'd love to forget. Sometimes they resemble wolves. Sometimes bears. Other times they're indescribable; the stuff of nightmares. The children never venture far beyond the treeline.

But here, there is no such danger. Tiny birds sing to themselves and I even spot one or two rabbits playing by the roadside. What a different place. What a different world.  
I see mountains in the distance, and get a glimpse of a huge sky, full of clouds that must stretch on forever. Oh how beautiful it is! Oh how I wish I could see this every day. How can I have missed out on sights so wondrous for all these years? Something like a tear pricks the back of my eyes, reminding me to force my emotions back under control. I will be strong and I will be brave. No need to cry over a pretty sky.

I roll the window down to let the fresh air cool my face. The scent of the forest fills the car and I feel my weary body relax, all my worries soaring into the sky. Even if it's only a temporary reprieve I'm still grateful to be able to escape the horror of my situation for a few hours. I drift off as clouds and trees roll by my window, the rhythm of the car lulling me into a peaceful sleep.

***

"Wake up, Birch, wake _up!_ You don't want to miss the approach to A-Town, trust me," a vigorous shake of the shoulder accompanies Evie's exclamation. 

Disoriented, I shoo her away and sit up to regain my bearings. The view from Evie's window has been transformed from green to grey. Jagged lines of a rock face makes themselves known, and I can't help but feel even more trapped by my circumstances than I did before – a truth as harsh and unforgiving as the rock itself. 

An even more extreme transformation has occurred on my side of the car. The ground has dropped away into a huge gorge. White water rapids race down below us, swirling and boiling in a mess of foam and mist. The sound is so loud I'm sure I would be able to hear it even if the window were closed. 

"Woah," I breathe to myself.

"It's the main river that powers the District" Evie laughs, "And you haven't seen anything yet!"

"What do you mean 'powers the District'?"

"Look!" she cries, pointing out the window.

And the view.

_Oh_

The view steals my breath away.

It's amazing how disconnected we Sectors are from the main industrial hub of our District. We labour in the depths of the forest for lumber, but never really think what happens to it after that. At school we're taught that the lumber is taken to A-Town to be processed and turned into useful objects for the Capitol, and whatever is left is distributed around the twelve remaining Districts. But just how that occurs is never discussed and something that we never have time to dwell on; another thing that would waste time when we're just trying to _survive_ day-by-day.

And here it is before me, the answer to a question I never really asked.

Mills.

Dozens of them line the edge of a cliff, which stretches on for miles, where thousands of gallons of water tumble down, down, down into the gorge below. Mist rises from the bottom and if I didn’t know better I would have believed that the land under us was burning. Each mill has a wheel that grinds slowly with the flow of the water, making the most of the limitless energy of the immense waterfall. I can hear the sound of them turning as they are pummelled by the sheer force of the water. Chimneys punch upwards into the sky, belching out thick black smoke that mixes with the clouds. Suspended between each mill is a bridge and I can see tiny matchstick people walking along them. I fancy that they're waving at us, eager to see us, but they're far too far away.

Everyone is so far away now.

I'm a Tribute – a Tribute of District 7. I'll never be close to anyone again.

The thunder of the water gets louder.

My train of thought is torn from its track as we hurtle around a corner into another breath-taking scene. Immense stone arches rise up from the misty depths of the gorge below, the vapour from the waterfalls completely obscuring the foot of each pillar.

"That's the Viaduct," Evie explains, pulling a lever by her head, "it's the only way into A-Town on this side of the Falls." There's a click and a mechanism whirrs into action. "Going the other way there's a series of tunnels through the mountains for roads and the railway. But this side, it's just cars. It's even impassable for hovercraft – something to do with the local geology, I hear." 

With a grunt she gives a portion of the ceiling a rough shove, and to my amazement it appears to fall away. The distant thunder suddenly becomes a deafening roar.

"Come on, stand with me!" she yells, her head and torso disappearing through the hole in the roof.

I glance towards the driver of our car, but he hasn't reacted. In fact, he doesn't seem to care at all. I grab her outstretched hand and stand on my own seat to enjoy the panoramic view this road has to offer.

We're on the Viaduct itself now. A great wind is being funnelled down the gorge and it whips our hair around our ears. I look to the left to watch the torrent of water tear its way through the rock towards whatever lies downstream.

Evie begins to point at the machinery ahead of us.

"Each wheel provides power for its own mill, meaning that the District doesn't have to burn any of the lumber the Sectors bring in. The Capitol likes that a lot. It was designed by the people of District Five and it does a fantastic job. The smoke you can see is the remains of the loose chippings from processing. The Capitol doesn't want residents to have any for themselves so anything leftover is destroyed. Wasteful."

I nod, wondering if this is the subject of schooling in A-Town. In D-Sector absolutely everything is structured around working in the forest teams to bring in lumber. Some people with a particular aptitude towards natural sciences get the opportunity to train as field medics once they turn seventeen, like my dad, before being able to become a full doctor. I wanted to do that too, and I'd been working so hard on those modules. I guess I won't fulfil that dream now. 

Evie is talking again.

"But underneath the surface of the water are turbines that stretch to the outermost edges of the mill system. They use the force of the water to provide energy for A-Town itself. Electricity, heat and light are all powered this way – the light is particularly useful, as you'll see."

I look up to see if I can spot these turbines, but they are totally obscured by the rush of water. I look down to see where the road leads next. 

Dead ahead. Straight into the heart of the colossal falls.

"Evie...?"

"Yeah?" she replies with a careless smirk that suggests she knows exactly what I'm about to ask. 

"Are we going to drive into... that?"

My brain has leapt into overdrive, calculating a number of horrific outcomes that could occur if we continue on our current path including, but not limited to, being crushed by the force of the water or sent flying from the Viaduct at high speed.

 _Quicker and easier than dying in the arena_ a part of my brain cheerily supplies.

"Even better," was Evie's cryptic reply. 

A new sound pierces the background noise of water; a sound of machinery grinding to life. I find myself gripping the metal of the roof in anticipation of any and all the potential options that are about to unfold.

Evie nudges my elbow, "Relax. This is going to be fine. In fact," she says with a smile, "you might even enjoy yourself."

I can't see how any of this could possibly be seen as enjoyable.

And then, the waterfall opens. Literally opens. With one final crack the curtain of the water is drawn back, with two streams falling on either side of the Viaduct. My jaw must open to great proportions because I feel Evie's hand tap my chin to encourage it back into place.

"I had the same reaction too. It's very impressive. But remember, it's just a Capitol power-play. They want you to be intimidated. Don't be."

"How could I be anything except intimidated?"

"Ah, good question. I find that the best way to not be intimidated is to laugh in the face of danger."

_Laugh?_

It's an excellent idea. As we approach the gaping maw of A-Town, I spread my arms wide and embrace the spray and whoop at its cold sting against my face. I imagine that this is what it's like to fly like a bird – free and at one with nature. I feel truly awake for the first time since the Reaping. I am alive and I am _so_ glad to be alive. 

Evie is equally delighted by the experience. Her eyes are closed and a wide smile covers her face. Water droplets fall into her long hair and glisten like the exquisite gems of District 1 in the sun. 

The car hits a bump in the road and we are thrown forwards. Our hands catch on the edges of the roof and our identical grunts trigger a simultaneous giggling fit.

Oh how it's good to laugh, even in the face of adversity.

"Are you OK?" I manage to ask between laughs, but she can only respond with a nod. 

Now that we've come through the waterfall I expect the car to slow down, but clearly we have somewhere to be urgently.

Evie is pointing out things as we pass by: the huge lights that are suspended from the roof of the cavern, the stairways that lead up to the mills and the tower of the Justice Building - which must be at least as twice as high as the one in D-Town. We pass by an empty building and out the corner of my eye I see her stick a middle finger in its direction.  
We hear cheers and I spot a TV screen up ahead, the Capitol seal filling it in its entirety. 

"Ah," Evie muses, "our next public appearances. As Pyramus would no doubt say, 'Big smiles, kiddies!' "

My brain immediately conjures up a miniature Pyramus Zay who repeats the phrase over and over again in an increasingly creepy manner. I ignore it, plaster on my best grin and begin to wave. We race past crowds of district citizens who are doing their best to play along with the spirit of the Games. None of us want to be here. Everyone just wants to hunker down, get on with life and pretend that the Hunger Games aren't as huge part of our lives as they are. 

We're whisked through the streets to District 7's train station and find it crawling with reporters and those hideous insect cameras. I remember when they came to our house once Alison reached the final eight. They performed their invasive interview on my parents before lurking outside our house for days, until they lost interest once she...

Another thing to force from my mind.

Four Peacekeepers surround us as we make our way onto the train. Evie is doing her best to pull on the Capitol's heartstrings, with a beaming smile and peals of laughter almost all the cameras have trained themselves on her. Each wave wins over another Capitol citizen and I can almost hear the exchange of money taking place. Bets, sponsors – she'll have it all.

And me?

I catch a glimpse of myself in a monitor. I look overwhelmed. Small. Weak. 

I am nothing.

The reporters' yells echo in my ears. No words register; only noise. There's a ringing in my head.

I am _nothing._

My feet find their way onto the train, Evie at my side. Pictures. The doors shut with a hiss and the din of the press is silenced. With an almost inaudible hum the train comes to life and I feel us pull out of the station.

"Well, that's a relief," Evie sighs, "my cheek muscles hurt from all that smiling. I'm going to find some food. Catch you later!"

She saunters off with a spring in her step and a melody on her lips.

I rest my head against the metal door and allow my spinning thoughts to slow before wondering what on earth I am going to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay in posting this - we've had real problems connecting to the Archive on our home wifi so I'm posting this from the ugliest service station I've ever had the dubious please of stepping foot in. Hope you enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train to the Capitol.

For me, nervousness, anxiety and fear all manifest themselves as an almost uncontrollable desire to move and fiddle. At home I can lay my hands on a piece of wood and a knife and calm myself by carving shapes out of the tough material, the concentration of such a task removing all bigger thoughts from my mind to focus on the work. Here, there are no such tools for me to use. I guess I can see the Capitol logic in that - wouldn't want a nasty 'accident' to put a tribute out of play. But that leaves me with nothing to do and an unbearable amount of nerves to deal with some other way.

After spending at least fifteen minutes tapping out all the woodpecker calls I can remember onto the table, wrapping and rewrapping my injured hand and pondering my horrific fate I decide to put this restless energy to good use and explore the train.

There's a bar carriage where I run into Pyramus Zay. He seems delighted to see me, kisses my check and offers to get the Capitol server to whip me up a cocktail as an 'aperitif' (whatever that is) to the meal later. I'm briefly tempted, but then I watch the server set fire to Pyramus's drink and I hastily excuse myself. My rep's voice rings down the corridor reminding me not to be late for dinner. 

In my hurry to get away I find myself running into a warm body. As I begin to lose my balance, strong hands take hold of my upper arms and keep me on my feet. I look up and find myself face-to-face with Briar.

Sometimes when I'm walking to school or travelling to my lumber team down the designated paths of the forest something will capture my attention. An iridescent beetle. A frosted spiders web. Even the sun breaking through the trees to enfold me in a warm golden light. I'll find myself frozen, enraptured – caught up by the beauty of the moment. Now and then, something like a shiver will race from the top of my spine and out to the extremities of my body, setting my soul on fire with awe and wonder.

Oh. _Oh._

Blood immediately rushes to my face and I'm hyperaware of every pressure of his fingers against my arms. 

"I – I – I – I – " all sensible thoughts have fled my brain and I'm left a stammering mess.

Briar laughs and pats my shoulders. 

"Everything alright, Birch? You look like someone just tried to set you on fire."

"Not me, my drink," I manage to quip, prompting another round of laughter from Briar.

What a beautiful sound.

_Birch... stop it._

"Ah, you're not tempted by one of the Capitol's specialties? Me neither – don't really see the appeal."

"Uh-huh," I reply uselessly, before chastising myself internally for being so stupid.

Briar doesn't seem to mind my inane response and asks me if I had anywhere particular in mind to escape to.

"No. I hadn't got that far."

Briar chuckles, "Have you been shown to your room yet? They really are quite something."

I gesture for him to lead the way. Now that I'm out of his gaze whatever force that had a grip around my chest suddenly releases itself. I breathe out and follow in his footsteps.

"That was a deep sigh. Rough day?"

A dry laugh escapes my lips, "It could have been better I suppose. What about you?"

"It could have been worse I suppose. I've met some nice people. And I get free dinner later."

"Mmm. What do you think we'll have?"

"Don't know. Let's find out, shall we?"

He pushes open a door to our right and a glorious smell fills the corridor.

"Bacon," we both savour.

We stand and watch the cooks bustle around in the kitchen, Briar pointing out the different dishes that they're making, how the line works, and the equipment the kitchen is supplied with. Some of the staff notice us and come to speak to us (well, Briar) about the ingredients they're using. It all sounds delicious to me. 

The head chef, who has introduced himself as Alphonse, brings us a tray of sweets and pastries for us to determine which should be presented at dinner. We sample them eagerly in the doorway, passing comments back and forth on the flavour, texture and presentation.

"How come you know so much about food?" I ask, tucking into yet another of what Briar calls a 'chocolate-drizzled profiterole'. 

"It's my 'talent'" he replies with a smile, "I have a cooking show that broadcasts on Capitol TV."

Ah. Talents. Every victor has one. From music to painting to flower-arranging these talents show off the skills of each victor – other than viciously killing children, of course.

Another way for the Capitol to make money out of the Games.

I wonder what my talent would be. Too bad I won't find out.

"Out the way!" a voice yells and I suddenly find myself yanked into the kitchen. A Capitol attendant charges down the corridor with a heavy trolley filled with crockery, silverware and napkins, the noise of the wheels sounding like thunder.

Once the din has passed, I'm aware that there is an arm around my stomach and that my back is pressed against someone's chest.

I feel warm. I feel safe.

I pull away somewhat reluctantly and I turn to see that the victor looks a little flustered. I avoid making eye-contact.

"So... we could go and see your room now?" he offers.

I nod, and turn to address Alphonse, "I think the profiteroles will be a hit at dinner."

With a smile the chef takes our empty tray and disappears back into the chaos of the kitchen. The journey to my room is silent, punctuated only by the rhythm of our footsteps. I don't attempt to fill it with a cheerful observation, the way I do at home. No, I don't trust myself with words right now. Through one of the doors I can hear running water and Evie singing. At least one of us is having a good time.

The next door is me. 

"This is it. I'll let you get settled in. You might want to get cleaned up and changed for dinner."

I don't really want him to leave. It's not very often I meet someone who I'm instantly... drawn to.

"You don't have to go. You can show me around if you want?"

It takes me a couple of seconds for the stupidity of that statement to sink in. I can feel the blood race to my cheeks.

"You want me to show you around your room?" Briar repeats, a wry grin growing on his face.

I wave my hands around in a pitiful attempt to brush the statement off, "You don't have to. It was just an idea."

"You can just say you wanna hang out some more – I don't have anything else to do."

I push open the door before I can say anything else embarrassing. 

'Room' doesn't seem like an adequate word for the space I step into. My room at home is small, crammed full of hodge-podge furniture and suffers from the wear and tear of being inhabited by young children. This chamber is phenomenal and flawless. The carpet is plush and spotless, the furniture free of chips and scratches and the sheer amount of space there is to move around... well, it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to do a little twirl. 

"So over here we have the bathroom..." Briar begins, clearly intending to hold me to my earlier request.

I groan in response and fling myself onto the bed. My groan becomes a moan as the softness of the bed envelopes me.

"I'm never going to get up again," my mouth pressed right against a cushion.

I feel Briar sit down on the bed, chuckling, but I don't react.

"What was that, sorry? I'm afraid I don't speak pillow."

"Ha ha," I reply, "I said I'm never going to get up again."

"I hate to burst your bubble while you're having such a nice time, but don't get used to it. It will make sleeping on the ground so much harder."

I wave his statement away and worm my way under the duvet, "Tell the Gamemakers that I'm stuck here forever. I'm not leaving this bed. Nothing can convince me to get up now."

"Not even more profiteroles?"

I sit up to contemplate his statement for a moment.

"No – they can be delivered to this bed," I state simply and flop back into the mass of fabric, "If I'm gonna die soon, I'm gonna make the most of this luxury while I can."

I have every intention of falling asleep there and then, but Briar pokes me in the stomach and reminds me that I'm the only reason he's still here and that I should keep him entertained. In the end, I do make him give me a little tour. The bedroom I've seen, but a hidden panel that summons Capitol attendants is useful information to have. The bathroom contains a device called a shower, which seems much more practical than a bath. It also has a variety of buttons that spray you with potions that make one smell nice. I don't think I'll have much use for any of those. 

My favourite thing has to be the walk-in dressing area. Back home I have no time for looking nice. All our clothes are hand-me-downs anyway and what's the point in looking good if we're just going to get drenched in sweat after hours of logging in the forest. But the variety of beautiful clothes hanging up, and the prospect of not having to undertake physical labour, makes the idea much more appealing.

I ball my jacket up and thrust it at Briar's chest.

"I'm going to get changed. I might be some time."

"In that case I'll go and sit down."

I start trying garments on. I start by matching colours that I think look nice together, mostly choosing shades that mirror the natural hues of the forests back home. After trying a few outfits like this, met with approval by Briar who is giving me looks that I just cannot read, I delve into some more outrageous combinations just to see if he'll laugh.

I pop out of the wardrobe wearing a particularly hideous shirt, a pair of tight brown denim trousers and ludicrously pink socks (who could put on something that colour and take themselves seriously?) with a yell of "Ta-da!" which makes Briar jump. An object tumbles from his hands to the floor.

The nuthatch.

It must have been in my jacket pocket.

He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, taking in the detail of the feathers and the beak. I'm suddenly embarrassed. I know that I'm a good woodworker, it's a craft that I've been honing for years now. But Briar's opinion matters to me. Despite knowing him for a matter of hours, he is now the most important critic that I've ever had. And I desperately want him to be impressed.

"Did you make this?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," I reply, trying to pass my response off with a degree of nonchalance, "it's just a hobby though. Nothing spectacular. Do you like it?"

"Do I like it?" he sets the sculpture down and holds my gaze, "Birch, it's an incredible piece of craftsmanship. You've got a real skill here."

I want to carry on looking at him, but I tear myself away with a shrug, "It's not anything special. Besides, what use is wood-carving in the arena?" I turn back to face him, "Tell you what, if you like it so much you can have it once I'm dead."

Perhaps that was a joke too far. Briar looks like he's been punched in the stomach.

Before either of us can say anything further the door bursts open and Evie comes bounding in.

"Come on guys, dinner was on the table like 10 minutes ago. Wait, what the hell are you wearing? That shirt is practically luminescent."

I remember my little fashion show and try hard not to blush.

"Outrageous combination number 3, right, Birch?" Briar answers with the semblance of a smile as he leaves the room.

Evie follows the victor, calling his name but getting no response. I step into the corridor to see what's happening and abruptly find myself shoved against the wall.

"What did you do?" my fellow tribute asks with a certain viciousness reminiscent of a cat defending her kittens, "I heard you two earlier and I've _never_ heard him laugh like that before, but now he looks like someone just died. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything. I think he's just laughing at the Capitol clothes."

She shoves me again and find myself praying that my end in the arena does not come at the hands of Evangeline Fletcher.

"Cut the crap, Birch. You know what you did."

"I genuinely don't know, Evie. What do you mean that you've never heard him laugh like that before?"

"Don't avoid the question."

Her impromptu interrogation has really caught me off guard and before I can even stop myself the words come tumbling out of my mouth.

"I can't help but try to make handsome guys laugh."

Evidently that wasn't the answer she was expecting as she steps back with a strange look in her eyes.

"Birch, are you – ?"

I don't even let her finish the question. I dart back into my room and lock the door, shutting out the topic I've been running from for so long.

Evie starts hammering on the door but I don't respond. The nuthatch is still on the bed. I throw it into the drawer of the bedside table – slamming it shut makes me feel a lot better. I strip off the Capitol clothes, before putting my district clothes back on again and clambering under the covers of the bed, where I lie immobile long after Evie gives up. 

Thoughts swirl around my brain in a loud, angry mess. I berate myself for getting too close to Briar when I'm never going to see him again, and then being so careless that Evie could guess within minutes what I've been trying to work out for years.

"Yes, I like boys," I say out loud, as if physically hearing the words will make it sink in better.

Nothing happens.

I really don't know what I expected. My brain moves on to the next problem.

Skipping dinner was probably a stupid idea. It's only a few days before I'm dropped into the arena and I could do with putting on some weight before then. Plus it won't stand me in good stead with Pyramus, who's advice for the interviews will be vital, or Briar who is no doubt confused by my behaviour this afternoon. It's also given Evie a chance to worm her way into their good books.

Although I have a feeling she's at an advantage with Briar already.

With a groan, I roll over and try to find something else to think about. Through the massive window I watch the sun slowly sink below the featureless horizon. A world without trees – how peculiar it looks to my forest-dwelling eyes.

Sunsets are not seen often in District 7 – we work right through them and well into the night under the harsh glare of artificial lighting, longer if we haven't fulfilled the day's quota. I wonder how my logging team will fare without me. I wonder what my friends will do without me. I wonder about my family...

With a noise somewhere between a cry and a groan I turn to face the wall, banging my forehead against the hard wood of the wall. I'll never see any of them ever again. The tears start to flow and I don't stop them. When thinking about the Hunger Games I always fancied that I would be strong and steady – tears would be alien to me. But it's never been in my nature not to care, and I care deeply about everyone back home.

As I cry my thoughts turn from despair to anger.

I'm furious. I'm furious that this has happened to our family twice. I'm furious that this has happened to countless families over the years across Panem. How dare they use our lives, the lives of children, as a commodity to be needlessly wasted every year?

I slam my fist into the wall; once, twice. That feels better. All my emotions are spent now and logical thoughts begin to fall back into place. I sink into the pillows and my last waking thought is the resolve to write letters to my friends and family to thank them for the opportunity I had to call them my loved ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's taken forever to post this. I've had it written for ages, I'm just slow. I am still working on this, and I promise you that I will finish it... even if it's in like 5 years time (will it be worth it, who knows?).

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my Hunger Games fic. I'm planning for it to be pretty long, so be prepared for that. Also, I'm at uni so uploads WILL be sporadic - you have been warned. Let me know what you think :) My tumblr is @theplatinthehat


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